Dead Until Dark, by Charlaine Harris

When I went up to pay for this book at Borders, the cashier, an older woman decked out in Giants gear, glanced at the cover.

"Ah," she said, scanning the barcode. "The book is better than the TV show."

Stunned that a woman her age had HBO, much less the desire to read a book called Dead Until Dark, I mutter, "Is that so?"

"Yes. Too much sex in the show. I like my sex scenes kisskiss and fade to black."

I think this sort of strong feeling might exist in the people who have both read this book and watched the corresponding show, True Blood. Not necessarily about sex, but that one medium definitely has the edge over the other.

Upon opening the first page, we leap right into the world of Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic waitress from the backwoods of northern Louisiana. Vampires have just now gained the rights of legal American citizens, having "come out of the coffin" a few years previous, and humankind is struggling to accept this phenomenon. Sort of like the whole gay marriage debate, except the members of this misunderstood minority are likely to, you know, actually turn you into one of them. Sookie is content to live the lonely life of a person sentenced to listen to other people's disgusting thoughts for eternity when a vampire turns her world upside down.

Yeah, I'm going to stop right there-- this novel's writing wasn't spectacular enough to warrant more than a back cover blurb.

I bet you can guess what side of the TV/book debate I am on. Yep, the show is better. You'll rarely hear me say this, as I tend to be one of those snobs who burst people's bubbles with a well-timed "Well, the movie/TV show was good, but it certainly doesn't stand up to the source material." I'm one of those people. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those times.

The writers for True Blood changed the story a little, yes. They added characters, changed other characters' personalities slightly, or just plain made stuff up. But they did it so well. You care about the main players, connect with them and their world. It's a world that's very familiar-- vampires have a PR crisis and an undead spokeswoman has to smooth things over; a right-wing church pronounces damnation on human/vampire relationships; a small community demonstrates the closeness and familiarity breed contempt. Dead Until Dawn mentions these things, but is more concerned with moving the story forward as quickly as possible. The show, on the other hand, takes as much time as it need to in order to build characters in actual people who you care for and worry about. When Jason, Sookie's brother, is suspected of murder in True Blood, I fretted. In the book-- eh. Whatever. Just a guy, you know?

I wanted to like the book. I really did. And, to some extent, I could appreciate the creativity in the world that Charlaine Harris had created. However, I just can't shake the feeling that a committee of writers did a better job with Harris's world than Harris did. Or, at least, they saw more opportunity in it.

Would I read the next book in the series? Sure. Why not? Would I buy it? That I'm not sure about. If you want a better deal for your money, invest in HBO.

Final verdict: library

back home, but...

... Now I can't get on the internet normally. Blackberry posting is getting tiresome.

A short one...

Cracker Barrel is the most amazing thing known to man. No question.

crap!

I had a whole thing writtenAn but my blackberry lost it. Well, this still counts.

Bloggin' on the Road

Writing from a rural PA Cracker Barrel after an evening meal of french toast and hashbrown casserole. On my way to a Penn State game and typing from.my Blackberry.

Would you be disgusted with me if I said I was typing this in a bathroom? A case of mobile culture gone too far, you say? Well. Then I'll sign off here.

K.

It works!

I'm going to be away from the computer, so I had to test posting with my Blackberry. And, by G-d, it works!

I won't have anything interesting or meaningful to say, but how is that a change?

K.

Maybe someone on the interwebs can help me here. What is the name of this print and who is it by? I've had it as my picture up on Nablopomo for about two years, but I can't remember where I got it from. Tineye.com says that I'm the only one who has it on the whole internet.

I just want to purchase it. :(

K.

Rush Hour

Driving home today, I got on entrance ramp for the west-bound Grand Central Expressway, which is normally just a short road cutting through a little woodsy area. Today, I must have hit it at exactly the right time to take my breath away.

The sky was at that weird twilight stage when it's dark, but the fissures in the clouds are an odd electric blue. While entering the ramp, I passed through the woodsy area where the tree branches formed an arching canopy, framing the street lights. Then the wind funneled the fallen yellow leaves in my direction. The overall effect was of driving through a school of goldfish at a depth where the sun was only just reaching through the water. For a few seconds, I was somewhere other than NYC rush hour traffic.

I don't think I'm describing this all that well, but I'll see if I can't take that route home again tomorrow.

K.

It's that time again!

And by that time, I mean NaBloPoMo! Yay! And I'm only a day late in announcing it.

Quick story: there's a senior singles group at my agency that always complains that they don't get enough people to come to their events. Who do they blame? Me. Listen, the newspaper industry is dying and the last thing they want to put in their failing rags is a singles event for the 65+. Plus, you're bitter and angry.

Sometimes there's a reason why you're single. And it doesn't always have to do with PR.

Whine, whine, bitch, bitch.

K.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

(Welp, I didn't make it into Cannonball Read, but it's still a good goal to pursue. If I make it, maybe I'll donate some money)

I’m irritated that I have to return this novel to the library at work. It’s been gone too long and its absence might be noticed.

My place of employment’s library is filled with brown books, thick books. Books whose innards haven’t seen the light of day in years. Books that lend that particular musty scent to a room that already smells of mildew and fluorescent lighting. It is a room full of ancient learning and one that I occasionally peruse when a group isn’t in there.

I found this book hidden amongst the brown like a little green leaf. It’s a little out of place—you don’t see many Indian authors side-by-side with Rashi, Maimonides, and Uris. So I took it and smuggled it back to my desk. And now that it’s time to return it, I’m hesitant.

The God of Small Things time travels through the lives and histories of Estha and Rahel, a pair of fraternal twins, in their small Indian village. Through them, we see a rise of a family of industry amidst a population that is still painfully poor. Then, in Flannery O’Conner-esque turn of events, we see the high brought low and an ordered world churned into chaos. A family may be at the story’s heart, but it is the history of India and the impossibilities of progress with a rigid caste system are the veins and arteries.

The God of Small Things is a novel that is meant to be read twice in quick succession. It’s not thick—a mere 321 pages—and it doesn’t ask me to explore Newtonian physics, but it does ask to be read more than once. John Updike commented in The New Yorker that it’s “[a] novel of real ambition that must invent its own language.” Roy realizes that English cannot adequately portray the thoughts of a child or a translation of a foreign tongue. She incises nouns like a plastic surgeon and grafts in adjectives, creating words that, like a crooked nose suddenly made straight, you wonder how the English language ever existed before its creation. She forces our mother tongue into concepts not made for our culture—and she makes us understand.

Reading in what essentially becomes a foreign language is not simple for those who just expected to read a story about Indian culture. I re-read the introduction about four times and only grasped every detail by the final read. I finally realized that I could never make it through the book if I continued backtracking, so I plunged ahead like a jungle explorer. I finished—but at what cost? There are many sentences tittering in my wake, mocking my unseemly and unEnglishmajorly haste. So I’ll have to read it again.

But first I’ll have to put it back amongst the brown truck books, a little green leaf resting on the forest floor.

Rating (from bookstore to torrent): Bookstore

(Argh, verbose books make me verbose.)

Waiting is a Bitch

Cannonball Read doesn't start until November 1 and I'm already waiting impatiently to start my growing little collection. Argh! To keep me sane, here is a short list of things to read:

Songs for the Butcher's Daughter by Peter Manseau-- Manseau signed my book and was a wonderfully nice guy.

From Every End of this Earth by Steven Roberts-- Also signed my book and was also a nice guy.

Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer-- A massive book, but not signed.

I just really want to read them. :(

K.

A Fresh Excuse

It's become a habit for me sit in front of this computer and watch the cursor blink in this very text box. Do I write? Nope. Can I even think of anything to write? Nuh-uh.

What the hell happened?

Now, I know I've never been a model of constancy. This blog starts and stops like an old jalopy with a squirrel caught in the axle. But, at the very least, I can think of something to slop down on this thing. Not these days. In fact, I think my brain might be slowly melting out of my ears while I sleep.

I can think of many reasons. I'm not eating well. I'm not getting enough sleep. I'm too stressed. My period key is broken and I have to use the decimal point key finish a sentence.

All of these are true, but I can't lay the blame totally on these factors. In reality, I'm not getting the intellectual stimulation I need in my life. My brain is muddy, my words aren't falling into place, and I'm sloppysloppysloppy. So, it's time to take a little control.

Pajiba, a movie (and, in more recent history, TV/book) review blog, is beginning its second year of the Cannonball Read, the history of which is a little too complicated for me to relate here. [Laziness ahoy! Cannonball Read history!] As a long term lurker, I followed last year's marathon with interest and sadly wished that I had the foresight to jump on the bandwagon at the beginning. But now-- my second chance is nigh!

So, 52 books, 52 reviews, 52 deep English major thoughts, and maybe 52 chances to get my brain back. And all for a good cause.

Good luck to me.

Read all the rules and join the Facebook group here! (And I'm not even getting any kickbacks!)

Kate

(Who has posted on Pajiba as "pereka" all of twice.)

Change is Good

So, you know all those long months ago when I didn't have a job?

A lot has changed since then.

For one, I now have a full-time position at a JCC as a Public Relations Coordinator. The title makes me appear important on my business cards, but I'm the Center-wide bitch. And that's okay. Because retail sucked.

I also moved out of Pennsylvania and am living in a basement in Queens. Every morning, I get in the car that I will be paying off for five years and drive to my JCC on Long Island.

I drive home, then I pass out.

It's a good time.

K.

Newly Shorn

I don't know what makes getting a haircut so exciting for me. It's a fairly regular occurrence, since my hair grows quickly and somewhat off-kilter (I've been told it's because I only sleep on one side, stunting my hair's growth, but I don't know how much of that is true). And, if I don't get at least a trim, I end up looking like I have a man's '70s era feathered hairdo. Like I don't have enough troubles.

I went to a new stylist this time around, taking advantage of my associate discount at NDS's in-store salon. That woman scrubbed my scalp like it was a bloodstain on a white sofa, but I've never felt so clean. Then cut, twist, curl, straighten. New hair!

This post is pointless, seriously. But it was the only exciting thing that happened to me today. Besides snow.

K.

"Where did you goooo? "

I received that as a comment from abz the other day and decided that I should probably answer that question.

Well, the reason I fell off the face of the Earth is due to the deep-- and frankly, ridiculous-- emotional angst that I collapsed into once I found out that I didn't get the job I was so sure I was qualified for. I didn't communicate with anyone outside of my family for days just because I didn't feel like explaining.

I call this angsty-ness "ridiculous" because there are a ton of people having a harder time of it than I am out there. I have a job, I have a home, and I have insurance-- what else to I need, really? But, at the same time, I can understand why this job-hunting thing has become a bit like scrabbling up a greased pole. As people are getting laid off, companies that are hiring are able to get experienced people quickly and easily. And that leaves those who have just graduated (me) sobbing into their pillows at night. Oh well.

I have been getting some things done, though. I'm an intern/contributor to MAPMagazine.com, which is pretty much about getting information about Madrid to tourists. Now, I've never been to Madrid (or Spain, for that matter), but I busted out my ninja-like researching skills to pull together this article. I'm pleased with myself.

So, that's where I went. That and the insane hours that I'm working now that the holiday season has started. I'm currently pulling a more-or-less stable 39.75 hours per week, which is practically full time. I'm pretty sure that I just signed on for 25 hours a week. Alas, I do my job too well.

Oh, one more thing. I agree that Hugh Jackman is a very sexy man, but I think Salon has it over People. And, at 5'8", he's pocket-sized!

Feel free to disagree with me with a above opinion, but you know that I'm right.

K.

Thank you, America

You have proven that we can stand up to our written promises-- our Declaration, our Constitution, and our Bill of Rights-- that all men (and women) are created equal.

We're not there yet. We still see crushing poverty in the streets and racism in our halls of government. We are not all equal-- not nearly.

But, damn, we are getting closer. What's next? Women in the White House that step out of the high heels of First Lady-hood and into the power suits of the presidency? Jews standing behind the presidential seal with confidence? Dear Lord, if only.

If only.

K.

PS. Senator McCain, I have to respect you for your concession speech. You had a tough road to follow throughout this race-- your supporters had to battle the accusations of racism when really they simply differed in opinion from Obama supporters. There is no winning in that situation. You were gracious and calming to a clearly unhappy crowd. You recognized the historical implications of this night. I have often disliked you (though a year ago, I would have voted for you), but you are a true American that only deserves my respect.

Hey, Pennsylvania...

...thanks.

K.

I think people would be so much more interested in Shakespeare if...

clipped from www.savagechickens.com

A dumb story

My dad brought home a quiche from Panera today and we sampled a bit over our leftover tacos.

Mom took a bite.

Dad took a bite.

I took a bite... and shrieked.

"THIS TASTES LIKE BACON!!!!" I picked up a pink of something and brandished it to the table. "BACON!"

Dumb story, I know, but of all the things for Dad to bring home from Panera...

K.

PS. Don't forget to vote tomorrow, people. I don't care who it's for, but if you don't do it, you have no right to complain for the next four years. Seriously.

Why?

Could someone please explain to me how a Pop Tart that starts off perfectly straight can come out of the toaster wiggly? What is it about heat that makes them arch like that? Any chemists wish to explain?

This is a cop-out post, obviously.

K.

Circle game

I staggered in from work and threw myself down in a chair, my eyes inching such as I considered the various merits of doing laundry versus leaving it until the next day, when... suddenly...

Holy crap... it's NaBloPoMo!

Yes, it's that stick that prods me back to my blog to type inanities for a month in an attempt to satisfy a random missive on a random month. It's incredible to me, in fact, that a year has even gone by since the last NaBloPoMo, but looking back, I can see the milestones of 2007/2008 that suddenly make the last 360 days seem very long.

I sat at every family celebration, wondering whether it would be my last as a member of the household. I realized that graduation wasn't a forgone conclusion-- that would need to take extra steps to guarantee a diploma. I went to China. I went to Israel. I graduated, finally. I started at NDS. I despaired a little. Now I may in the process of getting my first career-type job. That's quite a bit in one year.

And now one end of the circle is touching the other and I begin another go-around. Wonder what will happen next.

Happy NaBloPoMo, y'all!

K.

I'm considering this a birthday present from G-d

The hell?!

K.

Recipe for achieving greatness in retail within three months

Ingredients

2 parts humility
1 part humor
1 part agreeableness
4 parts bottling all the negativity up inside so as to unleash it on unsuspecting family members
1/4 part working alarm clock
1/2 part comfortable shoes
1 part non-threatening appearance
3 parts willingness to "share the wealth"
1 part commiseration with fellow co-workers
2 parts laughing at your own mistakes, but making sure not to do it again
1 part coolness under pressure
5 parts perfect attendance
4 parts tolerating very rude people without crying/screaming/hitting
1 part clever time-wasters
various pinches of personality to taste

Procedure

Mix thoroughly. Bake at 350 degrees.

Serves 1

This recipe has been approved by the Sales Associate of the Month, yours truly.

K.

They pay my salary

If there's one thing that I love about my current job in retail, it's that you never know what sort of customer is going to approach your counter. It is, however, easy to classify them into relatively general categories.

• The people who love me-- "My mother doesn't speak English, but she says that she wants to take you back to our country and marry you to my brother." (actual quote)

• The people who hate me-- "No, I do not want a credit card! Stop asking! Rawr!"

• The people who don't speak English-- Cue me miming shoe sizes to a variety of Spanish and French speakers.

• The people who treat me like a servant-- "Get me an 11!" "We don't have that size, sir." "Argh! A 12, then!" (again, an actual quote)

• The children-- They generally stare at me like some sort of zoo exhibit, then most break into this soul-brightening smile. Then continue to stare at me, grinning like homicidal maniacs. Oh well, I'll take it.

• The old people who don't have anyone else to talk to-- This is incredibly sad and I make a point to literally sit at their feet when they want to engage me in a conversation and I have nothing else to do. Still, I really, really don't want to hear about your current sex life. Really.

• The people who love to laugh-- Well, they're usually drunk, but laughing all the same.
  

Those are my customers in a tidy list. It's a tad sentimental of me, but I think I'll miss them all when (if) I get a real job.

K.

Grr-waah?

As is my wont, I fell off the face of the Earth for several months. That's me-- that's what I do. Until recently, though, I managed to keep my hands clapped firmly over my ears and maintaining a happy ignorance of just about everything. I wake up, go to work, sell shoes, go home, go to sleep. That's it. As a result, this is what I'm terribly uninformed about:

• the stock market crash
• the presidential election in general and the new "Who is Obama?" campaign in particular
• any sort of Israeli politics-- there was something with Livni, right?
• any new books on the market
• gas prices
• the new rabbi at my temple (not national news, but pretty world-shaking for someone who has had the same rabbi for 22 years)
  
• etc, etc, etc

The only thing I came out of my stupor for was the death of Paul Newman, who was all kinds of awesome. But now I'm fully awake... and I'm worried.

Seriously, guys, can't you do anything by yourselves? Do you really need my personal attention to keep this world functioning as it should? Well, now I'm back-- sort of. We'll see how long this lasts.

Sucks to be an English major

I think I'll be posting these as I find them. It'll make me feel better about myself.

K.

Oh hey, Alain Bernard...

Gonna smash the Americans, are we? I'm going to put this as eloquently as I can: suck it.

Also, Michael Phelps should be kissing Jason Lezak's 32-year old feet. Seriously.

K.

PS. I love the Olympics!

Sorry, but that's my opinion

There's incredibly poisonous smog in the air.

One American murdered and explosions in the west.

An opening ceremonies pretty much produced by slave labor.

There's quite a bit to criticize the Chinese for as the 2008 Beijing Olympics begin. But talk to an ordinary Chinese person, listen to how proud they are to be able to host the world at the most unifying event on the planet... then tell me that there is nothing to praise about these Games.

And that's all that I have to say.

K.

PS. Good on ya, Mike. One gold down.

I really shouldn't be on the internet right now, but...

... RIP, Bernie Mac. Dear G-d, this was a shock.

K.

Scattered Thoughts: Life in retail

I've lost any creative impulse, so Scattered Thoughts it is...

• There's one song that plays over the loud speaker that reminds me of "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" every time. And then, of course, I have to sing it to myself.

• We have a pair of shoes that look like the angry vacuum cleaner in The Brave Little Toaster. Or maybe it only looks like it to me:
• We also have a shoe named "Floppy." It's the least "Floppy"-looking piece of footwear I have ever seen-- more like Gerta. Or Helga:
• If it weren't for direct deposit, I would forget to pick up my paycheck every pay period. Without fail.

• It's a given that I will drop at least one box of shoes everyday. Whether I do it in full view of my customers must have something to do with the karma I've accrued that day.

There are more, but I can't think of any.

K.

Things That Will Be the Death of Me

• Netflix
• Sending out resumes
• Cleaning my room-- and my apartment
  
• Staying awake during NDS working hours
• Keeping up with my Bloglines list
• A possible membership of the Internet Writing Workshop (anyone want to join me?)
• The parakeet and her impossible demands
• Staying out of PSP business now that I am no longer an active member
• The red tape of graduating

K.

The shoes ate my soul

Nearly every day, I come home from selling shoes to usually polite, but always oblivious people, look at my computer, and go to bed. All of the fatigue from my feet travels to my fingers and I simply can't be assed to blog or even to check my e-mail. Essentially, the shoe trade has destroyed any sort of online presence I may have had.

I really do have some great stories from my nearly one month at NDS, like customers that go from zero to crazy half a second after you tell them that a particular coupon doesn't work for a clearance shoe or the people who make me stay after the store closes because they need shoes just that badly. And good stories too, don't get me wrong. But I'm tired and I don't feel like writing them.

So, essentially, all this post can claim to be is an apology and a bad explanation for my absence. Sorry.

Some news:

• I'm thinking of joining an on-line writer's group so that I can get the sort of constructive criticism that can hone my crap into reasonably good work. Can anyone recommend a group or does anyone want to join with me? Just let me know.

• Went to Scranton today and found out that The Office's spin-off will be about the politics of the town-- and my uncle's cousin owns the deli that some scenes might be filmed in (the cousin has script approval-- he doesn't want to offend anybody). In real life, many of the local Republican committee meetings happen at the back table of the deli, so the show won't be far off. And, wouldn't you know, I just ate at that table today. So, when you tune in and see a deli called Catalano, you just remember that I enjoyed a turkey hoagie with pepper and olive oil there. I have pictures to prove it.

That's it really.

K.

I want to throw up

I just realized that I have been sending out many of cover letters to companies with incorrect information on them. How heartbreaking. :(

But, to cheer me up, I find that reading The Pajiba Ten: 2008's Most Bangalicious Celebrities pretty much does the trick. The RDJ one makes me blush because it's so very true (and also proves that I need to get out more.)

K.

Injustice

My friend stood a foot away from Will Arnett and Amy Poehler last night and I... I sold people shoes.

Excuse me while I cry myself to sleep.

K.

Quit waiting for Godot

Some genius upload one of my all-time favorite movies, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead! Existentialism at it's finest.

Edit: And, as luck would have it, I found my favorite scene on YouTube. It makes all of my English major naughty bits feel tingly.



Play at home with your friends.

K.

PS. Gary Oldman and Tim Roth never looked so good!

A quick note

So I'm sitting here, watching the fourth season of Weeds, and I can't get over Albert Brooks. Every time he opens his mouth, I hear the f-bomb coming out of a tiny animated clownfish. A tiny animated clownfish who is just looking for his son. Sigh.

I feel like a teenager again

You know, I'm 22 years old and should be over some of the emo bullshit that I sometimes get into-- including writing posts about said bullshit. But sometimes living at home with three other adults while looking for a career that's supposed to launch you into real life gets so stressful that I snap at small things.

I should be down in the basement with my parents, eating a family meal and watching The Heartbreak Kid (not my choice), but instead I'm sitting on the porch, eating cereal and watching Weeds. Not exactly a heartwarming alternative. I had a minor tiff with my father that got blown out of proportion and the tension got a little much for me. It's better that I don't mess up a meal for the two of them with my pride and bad mood.

What really got me wasn't the argument with my dad-- it was my mom's immediate reaction to it. I wasn't looking for her sympathy, just sitting on the couch with a scowl, and she just bursts out that she doesn't know what's going and on and she isn't getting involved. It just struck me as so attention-seeking; she made an announcement of not participating in the argument when she could have kept to that concept better if she had just not said anything at all.

I've been noticing this more and more with my mom, and I hate thinking about it. I know that she's proud of her business (and she should be-- she built it from the ground up), but hearing about how she sold a scarf that day once every hour makes me want to just cry. It's selfish of me to think that, but that's just how I'm feeling.

Maybe it's the fact that she's doing so well while I'm working in retail and not getting single response to the resumes I send out (not including the India job, which hasn't gotten back in contact with me, by the way). Or perhaps that attention-seeking is really there and I'm getting angry at myself for perceiving a fault in a parent that has often been my greatest supporter.

I'm also wondering whether I should tell her how I feel. It could end up with hurt feelings all around, so that wouldn't be good. On the upside, it would keep me from going postal on her after hearing about her business one too many times. I just don't want to break her spirit. She's paid her dues and deserves to be happy in what she does.

I'll talk to her. The worst that could happen is that I make her cry, then I cry, then I go sleep in the car. I hope that doesn't happen.

Let's all pray that I can stay away from dumb posts like this in the future.

K.

Ed. Talked to Dad instead. Feel a little better.

Fuwa!

 

I adore these little guys, but some think that the Beijing Olympic Fuwa might stand for something more sinister. 

Whatever, they're still cute.

K.

Eye <3 U

It's strange when the highlight of my day is visiting my eye doctor-- something I only get around to once a year. I guess you would understand if you knew my doctor. My mother calls him an aging hippie, but I think he looks more like a benign Mel Gibson, more likely forget what he's doing during an eye exam than call some lady "Sugartits." He also never wears socks. Ever.


For most of my life, he called me "Kaitlyn," which is decidedly not my name. It didn't matter that my preferred moniker was on my chart; I was Kaitlyn for a good 18 years. Then, out of nowhere, my name became "Kathryn," which is technically correct, but a name I never go by publicly. I still don't know what changed his mind.


But what really sets him apart is how good he makes you feel about your eyes.


"Wow, beautiful. Your eye pressure is absolutely perfect."


"That's a nice thick rim of tissue around your ocular nerve."


"Your anterior chamber is deep and calm." (I've never figure this one out, but I picture a velvet blue with a humpback whale singing mournfully behind my pupils. Please, let that be what's actually back there.)


What do you say to these things? "Why, thank you! I've been working very hard to build up such thick tissue. It's wonderful when one's work is noticed."


I come out of that office with a smile every time.


K.

Scattered Thoughts: Produced by frustration

I had another post earlier, but the formatting nearly killed me. So, for lack of any more brain cells to put together something coherent, another Scattered Thoughts.

• I had my second day of training at National Department Store (NDS), which focused primarily on an unintentionally hilarious workplace harassment video focused on "sweater puppies" and drunk Irish jokes. Then I learned about how you have to "give the customer the pickle." Retail is weird.

• While taking the bathroom trashcan out to the curb tonight, the wind caught a pantyliner wrapper and blew it down the street. I had to chase it, which didn't help my self-esteem.

• I found my parakeet asleep on her side the other day. Thought she was dead for a second, then she sat up and looked at me like I was doing something unnatural.

• Another weird thing-- I saw a chipmunk eating a worm. What the hell is up with that?!

• No news on the career front. I've been told that I just have to keep going, which is obviously true. After all, I don't want to be stuck at my parents' house forever. But throw me a bone, people! I'll work for peanuts!

K.

UGLY!

Sorry, my blog is currently under construction! I'll be posting as usual (haphazardly), but everything will just look weird for a while.

Thanks!

K.

Whining

Maybe it's because I'm trying not to think about my first day of work tomorrow, but I've been concentrating lately on figuring out whether to change my blog template. The trouble with already having an established name for a blog and a set visual image for it is that nothing you see in the world of free Blogger templates is quite right.

Trying to stick with the title's theme, I've been looking for interesting writing-related backgrounds, but all I came up with are scrolls and medieval journal-like things. They just all strike me as so literal.

When I think of "Writing in Wax," I picture a stylus pressing deep into a wax tablet-- easily to scribble, easy to erase.  I think this tablet softly lit by candlelight as someone labors away in the dark to get their thoughts down before sleep takes over. And none of these templates are quite up to my standards. 

This wouldn't be so irritating if I had Photoshop Elements on this computer, but I don't. Frankly, I don't even know if my old copy of the software will work on Vista. But if it did, I could just remake the banner I have right now-- just take out the references to college and such. 

This post needs to end now. I'm not writing anything productive and I'm just doing it to stave off the sleepless night I know if ahead of me. Sorry to all of you who just wasted your time.

K. 

No longer fits

My banner for this blog no longer fits me anymore. Sure, I can get a couple more weeks out of the college thing-- until I get my August diploma, that is. And while I'm thinking about it, should I just change the entire layout of this site? And do I really want to go through all of the hassle?

Too much to think about for now.

K.

Red, white, and the blues

I surprised myself the other day by asking my dad if we could have a "real" 4th of July this year.

I'm not sure what I meant by that.

What I'm confused about is that the comment came out sounding like an impatient American child with immigrant parents. Could we save the hummus/chopsticks/beans and rice for another day? Can't we act like an American family just this once?

I suppose that I have been a stranger to July 4ths in a conventional sense. Up until last year, I spent most Independence Days at Jew Camp-- a dreamy bastion of foreignness in the middle of Confederate Flag-waving Maryland. Not that Jew Camp didn't celebrate the holiday. Far from it. That particular days was swarming with campers wearing redwhiteandblue, patriotic sing-alongs after a barbeque lunch (kosher, of course), and the invariable Americana kids show in the evenings. But beneath of all this star spangled fervor ran a faint sense of desperation, the sweaty scent of someone trying too hard. The lengths we went to celebrate the 4th the "correct" way made the celebration awkward in itself.*

After I left Jew Camp, I spent the next 4th in summer school in an effort to graduate college on time (you see how that worked out). Aside from a mountain of American-themed cupcakes in the dining hall, it was like the national holiday didn't exist.

All of this brings me up to this year and that squeezing feeling in my chest that I wasn't doing this "American" thing right. No fireworks, no party, and no thought of a barbeque until I practically begged my father to grill some hot dogs for me. Circumstances didn't help, either. My parents are self-employed, so even though it was a Friday, there was no sense of a long weekend. The sky remained stubbornly overcast and weather steamy, punctuated by occasional rain. My father insisted I make Israeli salad for our barbeque, which ruined the American theme I had been going for, and then promptly forgot to grill the hot dogs I had asked for.

It's stupid and ridiculous for me to complain about this. There are people in this country who legitimately have a right to feel left out of America and carry the air of "foreigner" around with them, no matter how hard they try to assimilate. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, unaccented me-- I can do pretty much anything in this country without being hassled or questioned. I have no right to feel like the 4th passed me by without me feeling that surge of warmth and belonging. Do I?

K.

*There was this one time (before I spent 4ths there as a camper) that things got a little weird. The director at the time, a gentile, was a Confederate Civil War re-enactor along with her husband. For some reason, they decided that July 4th would be a great time to have a "Confederate Day." A lot of weird things happened at Jew Camp, but that was one that only happened once.

China on July 4th. So patriotic.

My China scrapblog. I figure it might be easier to view the pictures this way for now.



K.

Things I Like: Arrested Development

One of the things that I think is missing from TV today (aside from shows like "30 Rock" and "Lost") is the ability to create complicated story lines that are both cohesive enough to last through an entire season (or little reminders here and there) and entertaining at the same time. I think that this type of clever, forward-thinking writing is the saving grace of a medium that is more and more giving over to reality shows, stupid sitcoms, and cop/doctor dramas. However, television lost a shining light in its redemption when it callously canceled "Arrested Development."

No, I'm not one of those people who blames an idiotic public for the cancellation of "AD"-- I helped kill it in my own tiny way by not watching the show when it was on. And I can't really blame FOX either. After all, why waste valuable air time on something that only a select crowd seems to appreciate? Still, even with all this apparent magnanimity, I'm still kind of bitter.

For those of you who haven't seen "AD"-- and I know you're there, don't be shy-- you can find all three seasons on Hulu.com. Watch them. Seriously.

For those of you who have seen it, you know what I'm talking about.

Let me outline several reasons why I love this show.

1) My hetero-crush on Jason Bateman; my lesbian-crush on Portia de Rossi; my voice-crush on Will Arnett.

2) This video:

3) The "Happy Days" references. And why not? Ron Howard narrates and both Henry Winkler and Scott Baio have bit parts. You haven't seen anything until you see the Fonz making awkward references to his perverse sexual preferences.

4) Bob Loblaw Law Blog. Analrapist. Banana Grabber. Loose seal. "I've made a huge mistake." "Final Countdown." "Come on!" Mrs. Featherbottom.

5) And this video:

Oh, there are more, but you'll have to see for yourself (if you haven't already).

And that, my friends, was a Thing I Like.

K.

PS. An "AD" movie? Say what?!?

Losing it

I've been having the strangest sense of time just slipping by.

For example, I know that it's Wednesday evening. Not only that, but I know it's July 2, which is pretty incredible for a person who never remembers dates. But there have been periods during the day when I can't remember which month it is or what day it is or even how my life fits into the current season. The whole thing is scary and disorienting.

I realize that this comes from not having a routine that marks out the days in a week, like school or work, and that as soon as I start my part-time job things will get better. But it worries me that I feel the slightest bit insane during these periods. Not shooting up a Wal-Mart insane, just drooling on the street corner insane.

Anyone else have this issue?

K.

On a more random note...

I stole this from Jen's blog. I'm pathetically in love with memes.

One Word Survey

1. Where is your cell phone? table
2. Your significant other? theoretical
3Your hair? blonde
4Your mother? bed
5. Your father? office
6. Your favorite thing? sleep
7. Your dream last night? unremarkable
8 Your favorite drink? julius
9. Your dream/goal? travel
10. The room you’re in? porch
11. Your hobby? reading
12. Your fear? unemployment
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? alive
14. What you’re not? optimistic
15. Muffins? corn
16. One of your wish list items? job
17. Where you grew up? PA
. The last thing you did? whined
19. What are you wearing? shirt
20. Favorite Gadget? laptop
Your pets? parakeet
22. Your computer? Toshiba
23. Your mood? despairing
24. Missing someone? nope
25. Your car? theoretical
26. Something you’re not wearing? glasses
27. Favorite store? Borders
28. Like someone? nope
29. Your favorite color? blue
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? today

Open to anybody.

K.

Scattered Thoughts: The Depths of Despair Edition

• I talked with Time today-- they don't have an opening for me. Mom insists that this doesn't mean that they don't want me, but it doesn't make me less depressed over it.

• Dad has made it quite clear that he does not approve of the India thing, which is an issue if I get sick/arrested/blown up/sold into slavery over there. No support network. Well, it hardly matters-- they have written back to me either.

• Sending out resumes into the void of internet job postings is a thankless task. It's like you just... disappear.

• I have to clear out my apartment tomorrow. :(

Life recently = booooo.

K.

Dad: Making me just a little more paranoid, one comment at a time

India called today.

I'm not sure what I was expecting-- it was really just an exploratory interview over the phone. Luckily, my one fear did not come to pass: that the interviewer's accent would make nearly impossible to hold a conversation. Her amazing English allowed me to escaped sounding like a mouth-breathing doofus. This time, anyway.

I explained the job to my parents afterwards. My dad gave me a look.

"Couldn't you just do that from the US? Like, over the computer?"

"I guess. But then they would have to pay me American wages."

"Kate, you're going to laugh when I say this, but I'm quite serious."

"Hmm?"

"You need to check this out to make sure it isn't white slavery."

??!!!

So, what am I supposed to do? Call my interviewer back up and ask her very nicely if I'm signing up to be put into bondage and would she please be honest with me about it?

Seriously, New York jobs that I have applied for, call me back. It would make life so much easier.

K.

Huh?

Holy crap, India just contacted me to have a first round of interviews. Over the phone.

I can't understand accents over the phone. :(

K.

PS. I also just told my mom about this interview thing and she got this really tight-lipped expression on her face. Not good.

Yeeowch!

My mom is pretty awesome. She crochets cacti.

They're actually kinda cool. From way back, they look real.

I have one like the item pictured above on my mantel at school. People think it's real all the time-- 'til they touch it.



I don't mean to pimp my mother's Etsy site or anything, but I will, mostly because I've been sewing on those little flowers for her. I would kinda like to see her succeed.

So if you like 'em, head on over to blazingneedle's Etsy site and give her stuff a look over.

Ta!

K.

If only this would actually happen

A meme from Gwyn.

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:
1. One weapon.
2. One song blasting on the speakers.
3. One famous person to fight alongside you.

Weapon can be real or fictional; you may assume endless ammo if applicable. Person can be real or fictional.

Right, okay.

1) The OCD flash grenade. Zombies have a pretty shambling pace anyway-- it would take them that much longer to get to me if they have to touch each wall three times or avoid cracks in the floor.

2) "Sinner Man" Nina Simone

3) Avner from Munich. It would make things pretty angsty, but those zombies would be obliterated.

K.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I just applied for a job in India. Please don't kill me.

You see, it's like it was made for me. They actually want a English/literature major who can work with international co-workers all while editing in both American and British English. I've done all of that.

Granted, this company has something to do with finances and I don't know a thing about that (much like I don't know anything about shoes), but knowledge of the financial world was optional, you see.

I'm kinda hoping that they'll call me.

Sorry?

K.

What do you do with a BA in English?

Find a part-time job until you actually get hired in some interesting career, obviously.

On my first day of my first ever time seriously looking into retail as employment, I stumbled into a position and got hired. In the shoe department.

I don't know anything about shoes, but I'll be getting medical insurance and a 20% discount while I figure it out.

K.

PS. I have to change the wording of my banner-- I'm barely a college student anymore. No degree until August, true, but what's a month or two?

I love the BBC...

...because they make the best period costume dramas. And they always have some random British actor that I know from somewhere, but can't place. I was watching North & South today and had that same deja vu feeling with Richard Armitage, which is odd because I usually have a keen memory for good-looking men. Anyway, here's a link to the video. Watch it-- it's romantic.

That's really all I had to say. Not really much of a post, is it?

K.

Scattered Thoughts: The "I'm in Israel-- but I stole my father's computer" edition

• As I mentioned before-- travelling with my family is a bad idea. I'm spoiled and used to my relative freedom when I roam alone. This almost feels like I'm being held hostage to everyone else, especially my dad, who halts everything in order to engage in hour-long business calls.

• The upside is that we benefit from all of those business calls. We're testing out a hotel in Jerusalem for Dad's NATO conference in December, taking private Krav Maga lessons, engaging a tourguide who works for the company (and also used to be a colonol in center city Jerusalem's police force). Exciting things.

• I'm getting back into the swing of Israel and it all reminds me of why I like it so much here. The people, the weather, etc.

• Jerusalem was exciting. We ended up doing things that were strictly taboo on Birthright trips and with my Dad's overprotective business partner. The winding market streets of the Arab Quarter were especially interesting, mostly for their slight air of menace. Still, it could be my imagination-- we did get pastries from a pleasant old Arab man who wrestled our empty water bottles away from us in order to fill them. No menace there. Dad says that there are many in that Quarter who just want to live in peace, yet others would probably be pretty damn excited to see Israel fall. And yes, I could see that for myself in some of the really pro-Palestinian souveniers in the marketplace. It was easier to breathe in the Christian Quarter where the streets were less narrow and people didn't stare. A bagel salesman, who I believe was a Christian Arab, offered me 40 thousand camels and a donkey for my hand in marriage. Cheeky. Thinking about it later, I realized that those camels (and donkey) would be a dowry and going directly to my parents, leaving me and the bagel guy sans a significant number of camels. Is it just me or would that make me poorer in the long run?

• I have to say that it wasn't only the Arab Quarter that made me feel awkward. There were so many Orthodox Jews around my hotel that I felt odd stepping out on the street, even when I was wearing a rather modest pair of shorts and long-sleeved hoodie. I have a feeling that it's easier to be secular outside of Jerusalem.

• Yesterday was spent at Masada and the Dead Sea. Not much to report other than I was sitting at the Northern Palace on Masada for about an hour and forty minutes, in which time Americans thought I was both a local and a Frenchwoman.

• Currently sitting in hotel room in Nahariyya after a day in Caesaria. We ate while watching the Med pounding the shore, trying to decide what these loud explosion-like sounds were. The rest of us settled on the waves slamming into the jetty, but Dad wasn't convinced. Hailing over our tired-looking waitress, he proceeded to ask if that noise had been caused by waves. She gave him the most withering look I have ever seen and replied, "Yes. We are not being bombed, sir." With that, she sulked away. In her defense, she's probably asked by panicky tourists all the time whether the resort is being bombed. In our defense, we asked her if those noises were made by waves. I don't think we said anything about bombs.

• My Hebrew-English phrasebook has this entry: "Have you been tested for AIDS?" I wonder how many times that's been used.

• There's a wedding singer in the courtyard below, crooning some Hebrew melodies. I was just able to ignore him when he busted out "I Love You Just the Way You Are." Can't go wrong with a little Billy.

• This was a bad entry, but I'm tired, burned, and hungry. :(

K.

• PS. Cancer, leave Paul Newman alone!!!!

Scattered Thoughts: Umm...

• Going to Israel tomorrow. Not packed and just irritated my parents, who I will be traveling with for ten days. And this is why I travel alone.

• I drove to WC again today and saw my turtle along the side of the road. He seems to be two-dimensional now, which is sad.

• Oh hey, so you know how I was, like, the last person alive who hadn't seen Ironman? Well, finally saw it and wow! May I be first in line to welcome the Robert Downey Jr revolution?

• People seemed bent on getting themselves killed while I was driving home today. One Amish man, one Mennonite woman, and two idiots decided that it would be a good idea to wander near the road without any reflective gear whatsoever. I'm sure that it wasn't a coordinated effort because they were miles and a river apart, but hey. Stop it.

• This was a useless entry and I'm not even sure why I wrote it.

K.

Me? A Published Poet?

Yeah, okay, it's not The New Yorker, but it's a start.

The Swarthmore Literary Review. Scroll down to "The Kimono." That's mine.

K.

Dear Robert Downey Jr,

You don't know me and you shouldn't, 'cause that's just weird. But I've had some thoughts about you lately that I thought I would share.

See, before two years ago, the most I knew about you is that you were a bit of a druggie (am I understating this?). That's all that really mattered to me. I grew up in a pretty straight-laced household, you see, so I didn't hold with those shenanigans. Then you fell off the radar and I forgot about you.

Until a couple years ago when you made my day.

You see, I was pledging for my honors/service co-ed fraternity (stick with me here) and had volunteered to do something that made me very uncomfortable. I hate admitting this because it makes me seem like an insensitive monster, but I'm very awkward around the developmentally challenged (am I being PC here?). I want to treat them with respect, but I worry that I may treat them too much like an adult or too much like a child. My nervousness stems from the most beneficent of sources, believe me. I want to be able to make their lives better but am at a loss as to how.

Anyway, for some reason, I ended up volunteering to help out at the ARC. It was definitely against type, but without more participation, the day would have fallen flat for those kids. Didn't want that on my soul. So I went to what turned out to be a movie day. And what movie did we end up seeing?

Yep, The Shaggy Dog. The last movie I had ever wanted to see.

And it wasn't because it was a kid's film. Please. I worked at a camp at the time-- you can't be a counselor without having an appreciation for kiddie movies. No, it's the movie poster (click on the link-- if you dare). I'm sure that you've seen this, sir. The cute dog, the wet nose, THE EYES OF DOOM!!!

No, sir, I can't stand human eyes on animals. It's the creepiest thing I have ever seen. That, more than anything, made me cry a little inside as we approached the theater, me clutching the hand of my assigned child, who looked blissfully unaware of the demonic force we were about to encounter.

It also didn't help that-- you're wondering where you come into this, I know, but stick with me-- the movie was bad. Just terrible. The bacteria in my stomach could have written a better script than that. Ugh. The kids seemed to like it, though, so I slouched into my seat, growing more depressed by the second, when-- like a heavenly ray of light-- you appeared on the screen.

I'm going to admit, my first thought when I saw you was, "Holy crap, he's alive?!" Not the most promising start. But you delivered the most deliciously evil performance of a scientist gone mad with power that I had ever seen and stole the show. Now, I might have been so glum that a pratfall on a banana peel would have cheered me up, but you went farther than that. It's ridiculous to say it, but because of you, I managed to cheerfully make it through the day. The rest of those memories from that event are fond ones mostly because my attitude had improved.

Now, it's fickle for me to say it, but I promptly forgot about that day, much like a man who promises G-d to donate half of his income to charity if only he is able to keep his job, then when everything is sunny again, is too distracted by everyday minutia to perform the task. (That was a long sentence.) But a part of me remembered, waiting to resurface.

And, lo, it has! You're back on the map, apparently healthy, and armed with a sense of humor about your darker days. I'm not blowing smoke up your ass when I say that I am genuinely pleased for you. Please don't blow it.

Oh, and call me. There are few men that I find attractive with facial hair, so I have to take advantage of this.

<3 K.

PS. Loved this video.

Scattered Thoughts: Reasons Why This Day Sucked

• I woke up at 4 AM. Enough said.

• I was driving along Rt 30 towards West Chester when I saw stuff animals scattered about the roadway. It looked like a plushie massacre. Normally I would be amused by this, but I kept wondering if these animals were meant for someone. Plus, there's something deep inside of me that says stuffed animals have feelings. I'm sentimental.

• After the stuffed animals, I was cruising down Rt 100 when I saw a turtle at the side of the road, holding his head high and lifting his leg to step into the busy highway. The next thing I knew I was pulled over about 200 yards away, speed-walking down the emergency shoulder of the road, eighteen-wheelers screaming by me, hurrying towards that little animal about the make a big mistake. Unfortunately, I got there too late. I suppose what really got me was how confident that turtle looked as he began his great adventure. The further I get from the event, the sadder I feel. I wouldn't be surprised if I cried myself to sleep over one naive animal. (One thing that made me laugh in spite of myself: I described how the turtle's blood looked on the pavement to my friend Jen-- thick, like scarlet acrylic paint. Ever the the sensitive type, she exclaimed: "So that's how they get red paint! They squeeze it out of turtles!" Evil.)

• I parked in the spot that Jen directed me to in her apartment's parking lot-- a spot that is actually hers. Yet, when I came out a few hours later, someone had left a note calling me a "shithead" with a rather elementary illustration on it. Sorry? I think the polite thing to do would have been to ask me to move, which I probably would have done, whether I had a right to the spot or not. I fear for the future if this is the level of discourse I have to deal with in the real world. I think I might laugh about this tomorrow.

Granted, it's not like someone physically hit me or I lost a family member or something. It's just that some days suck more than others. And this one suuuuuuuuuucked.

Here's hoping for better ones!

K.

Dear ANSWER,

We've had our ups and downs-- wait, no, only downs. I realized your crazy wacked-outness when I nearly got shot at one of your rallies. So, I really shouldn't be surprised at this latest weirdness, but, frankly, I am. You reached a new height of suckitude.

Let's talk Rachael Ray for a second. I don't like her. I find her annoying and ridiculous and am firmly in the Bourdain camp about her being a shill for Duckin' Donuts. On a normal day, you'll see that I have absolutely no sympathy for her.

Until this scarf incident. Seriously, are we still talking about this? The woman wears a scarf in a commercial that looks vaguely Arabic and suddenly she's branded a terrorist-sympathizer. Michelle Malkin, who is just below Ann Coulter in craziness, jumps all over the issue, which causes Duckin' Donuts to pull the ad. First, my comments on this.

Look at the scarf. I mean, look at it. This style of scarf is worn all over the world by people who want to see seem hip. I've seen them in the UK, in Europe, and even in China. They are Arab-style, yes, but have nothing to do with the checker board scarf that we often see on jihadists. Now, look at Ray again. Isn't that a paisley pattern? Ooh, beware of the Paisley Scourge!

Now, we could have let this nonsense fade away. But you, ANSWER, you self-righteous organization, you. YOU decide to call for a boycott on Duckin' Donuts for pulling the ad! Anti-Arab racism, my ass-- you're just looking for a fight! If this is the end-all of anti-Arabic propaganda by the Right in your eyes, then I would say that you have some real issues. Do something constructive, like create more Arab-American-friendly education for the public at large. Make some radio/TV/print ads. Do something that will make a difference!

I, for one, will make a difference right now. I'm going out for a Duckin' Donut. YUMMO!

K.

China Travel Journal: Day 2-- The Forbidden City, Capitol Normal University, and Duck Dinner

So begins my first full day in China. I'm not particularly proud of this entry, but I think that the scatteredness of the piece shows exactly how exhausted I was. Instead of going into too much description, I was pretty much listing what I saw and was told. I think this changes later.

14 May 2008

8:11 PM

Beijing

Woke up at 5 AM this morning, even though our wake up call was for 7. My jetlag is such that I'm quickly fading away while writing this, so excuse any incoherence on my part. Anyway, I was startled at the smog fog that hangs over the city. Another girl assured me that this was nothing the way of pollution, but I remain unconvinced. Whatever it was dried out my throat and lips and left my contacts begging for a long soak. I hope they'll be okay for tomorrow.

Breakfast at this hotel is an odd mix of Western and Eastern foods, all shoved awkwardly into a buffet. I settled for Coco Krispies; will be more adventurous tomorrow. Perhaps the buffet staff will pick a new album to play over the loud speaker since the Backstreet Boys don't really aid in digestion.

Dr. Cai then took us the the Forbidden City, which was very impressive indeed. I suppose that it took me a little while to square myself with the fact that I was actually walking beneath that giant portrait of Mao on the Tian'amen and then walking on the same bricks on which emperors once strode. The complex seemed never ending and very, very red. I suppose anyone reading this will have to forgive me, but I have to say that I was picturing that final fight scene from Mulan the entire time.

Tian'amen and the giant portrait of Mao.

The many curved roofs in the Forbidden City.

We were told that the two lions you see traditionally guarding many doorways in the City are not both male, despite the manes. The one holding the globe on the right is the male; the one on the left holding the baby is the female. Also, where the phoenix was paired with the dragon meant that this was the place that the empress inhabited. Finally, never refer to a Chinese man as a soft-shelled turtle, as that means he's being cuckolded. I know that last bit has nothing to do with anything, but it's an interesting fact.

A male lion guarding the door of the gate. He's the big stone guy in the background.

A relief of a dragon, the emperor's special symbol.

The phoenix, the empress's special symbol. She wasn't allowed to wander about the Forbidden City, so we can pretty much tell where she might have gone based on the location of the phoenixes.

A hard-shelled turtle, which is known for tenacity and bravery. Obviously not a soft-shelled turtle.

Again, we couldn't hold still for too long or pose for our own pictures-- the Chinese would quickly jump in. A few of us were standing for a good five minutes while at least ten jumped in and out of photos. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or like a star of a freak show. Still, I know this could get irritating after a couple of days. Dr. Cai says that we have to learn how to say "Bu" (no), but they don't give you a chance. I really need to start charging.

A scene from the Forbidden City gardens. There is really no point to me including this. I just thought it was pretty.

I learned today that I'm a sucker for a sob story and am really horrendous at bargaining. I'm sure that's not going to come and bite me in the butt later. But carrying on...

After the City, we took out bus to the Capitol Normal University to hear Dr. Shorten give a lecture about water and sanitation. His speech was enlightening, but to us and the Chinese students who listened in. We engaged in a discussion afterwards in groups, though the topics were not limited to those of pollution and water conservation. I spoke pretty extensively to a bunch of English lit students, who seemed very interested in my studies and life in the US. One thing that I hadn't realized was so prevalent was young people picking out English names. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, they do seem to pick out their own names, which gives them meaning. On the other, perhaps we should be making an effort to learn their given names. I don't see why they should have to take on new names for the benefit of the West.

Speaking of East meets West, I had my first encountered with a Chinese toilet today. It's little more than a porcelain hole in the ground that you have to squat over. I've never wished harder to be a guy in my life. Ultimately, I had to visit the facilities twice-- once to get the feel for it, another to actually do the deed. As a kid, I used to be deathly afraid of public toilets. I would have never survived in China.

Our final stop was dinner for Beijing Duck, which is basically what they call crispy duck pancakes in the UK. Our hosts were the Chinese Universities Alumni Association, though the representatives at our table didn't have much to say. They did show us how to make a tasty duck taco, though.

Our duck dinner. I think it's a little gross that they served duck meat from a duck-shaped tray. Gross and morbidly funny.

K.

The Foody Philistine

In my lonely nighttime wanderings (it's still daytime for me, you know), I've been desperately looking for something to do. At 2 AM, I was watching a Home Improvement marathon. At 5 AM, I was eating a whole box of pizza. At 7 AM, I locked myself out of the house for 45 minutes with no bra or shoes. I've done nothing constructive.

I've finally found another book to read, though, conveniently stolen from my mother's Floor Library of Books Rarely Read. It's called The United States of Arugula (I think that's a veggie) and is one of those amusingly educational tomes about how our food culture has changed in America. I've perused the first few pages and have already developed some thoughts.

I'm a regular watcher of the Food Channel, if only to see Alton Brown and Marc Summers (we go way back). I also love those Food Network Challenges were masters in their field rush against the clock to create some wonderful culinary confections. Oooh, and Ace of Cakes. I love Ace of Cakes. Call me a nerd, but I adore the Food Channel.

Still, for all the time spent in front of the television, I'm still not a gourmet. Give me the simple. Don't make my grilled cheese with artisanal bread and brie. I don't want Kobe beef. And, dear Lord, don't put truffles in anything. I'm a simple girl with simple tastes.

Not that I won't try things. I've had my fair share of haggis, I've tried the 1,000 Year Old Egg (gak!), and I'm willing to give a shot to a local speciality even if it's not at all kosher. I'll eat the food for the experience, but I probably won't make it part of my daily diet.

So I'm a foody philistine. Eager to learn, but restrained when it comes to actually eating it.

K.

China Travel Journal: Day 1, Entry 2

Well, it's 5:30 AM in North America, but it's 5:30 PM for me. So instead of sleeping, I'm going to put up my second(?) entry in my China travel journal.

13 May 2008
9:14 PM

Beijing

I think the first thing you notice about Beijing is how clean it is. This seems like a contradictory statement to the one I made in the last entry, but it's true. When we left the airport, the sune was shining, the sky was clear, and, as Sara pointed out, there wasn't a single piece of trash on the ground. This last trait doesn't happen on its own, but is maintained by orange-jumpsuited people with litter picks and wheelbarrows. You get the feeling that Beijing is one giant organizsm that breathes with the revolutions of the millions of bicycle wheels that roam the streets. These orange people are like the good bacteria in Beijing's gut, digesting and moving the poisons that occur in a living city. I would say that they were like white blood cells, but the police here have that position covered-- there is at least one on every corner.

I was wondering if Beijing's infamous smog was just a rumor spread by its detractors, but, as I discovered when we went out for dinner, it isn't. I'm not sure where it came from, but there it was. It was hazy, like dew evaporating on a really hot day, but thi was a cool, dry afternoon. I fear that some of my pictures may not come out as crisp because of it.

Dr. Cai took us to a restaurant next door to our hotel, which served us lazy Susan-style. The amount of food was overwhelming-- crispy duck, stringbeans, fried bean paste (yum!), fried rice, pork, fish, ginger chicken, etc. I got schooled by a waitress twice on how to serve noodles with chopsticks. She seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever I would reach for the noodle bowl. Dinner ended with Sara gnawing on a fried duck head. Just picture that.

Oh hey, you don't have to! Actually, upon looking longer on it, I think it's a chicken head. Sara stuck that thing in her mouth, prounced it "chewy,' then spat it out into a napkin.

After dinner, Dr. Cai led us to Tian'amen Square to see the flag being lowered. Unfortunately, we soon became the main attractions. I'm not sure why we didn't see this coming, being a group consisting of several blondes and two African Americans among others, but we soon became aware of people staring at us and secretively snapping pictures. Girls came right out and posed with some of our boys, but the men stood back and creepily tapes us with camera phones. Right now, I'd just like to ask all the Amish I've ever watched on the road to forgive me-- I didn't know how weird and uncomfortable that is until now. I wouldn't mind if someone just asked us for a picture (an Olympic volunteer did just that), but don't treat me like an animal in a zoo. The only people I don't mind staring are the kids because they smile at you if you wave. Oh well, different culture.

A police officer in front of Tian'amen at dusk.

Watched some CCTV today. Most of the coverage was on the quake in Sichuan on Monday. Apparently there is no electricity or drinking water at the moment, which will probably contribute to health issues in the next few weeks. Sad.

K.

PS. Before I continue on with these entries, know that I can't spell. That's all.

China Travel Journal: An Introduction

Since I actually took this trip to China in order to fulfill six course credits, I actually had to do some school work while I was there. One of the requirements was to keep a travel journal where you recorded your thoughts about the environment, medical facilities, school culture, and just your general experiences. So I spent quite a bit of time grinding out these entries.

However, there is something that the reader should know. Going into this trip, I knew very little about China. Yes, I read articles and books to bone up on the culture and the topics my classes covered (the environment, medicine, education, etc), but all of my opinions were distinctly American. Really, you can't expect anymore than that. After all, my information came through a Western lense. This is obvious in my first couple entries when I was trying to get a handle on China. I think that this generally changes throughout the journal, but you'll have to make that decision for yourself.

All of the opinions expressed in these entries are my own. Feel free to comment or ask questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.

And so, we begin...

13 May 2008
10:05 AM (Beijing time)
Somewhere over Russia

I'm not sure if I'm totally mentally prepared for where I'm going. One plane is much like another (excepting the food, which can make or break the whole experience), so I might as well be flying to a country that I know well rather than the unknown. And I have a feeling that no matter how much reading I do on the subject of Chinese culture, I'll be almost catatonic with culture shock. I'll survive, of course-- I always do. Still, on a plane you're given little to do but wonder.

I've tried to occupy my time by reading some of the environmental articles, but the sheer number of statistics and scientific abbreviations has blown my English major's mind. I think the meaning that I'm supposed to glean is hidden between these numbers, but I haven't found it yet. Thre is a reason that I barely passed any science classes. :) However, I've become aware of just how unstable environmentally China is. I'm surprised that the entire country just hasn't imploded in on itseld in a puff of coal dust and CFCs. Floods, landslides, dust storms, water shortages, the disappearance of rivers-- that's quite a list. I wonder what the regualr Chinese citizen thinks of all of this. Would he or she be so used to it tht it ceasese to make an impact on the general thought process? Or is her or she poised to become an international spokes person about the dangers of misused resources? Also, what the hell was the IOC thinking when they awarded the 2008 Olympics to Beijing, which apparently suffers from debilitating dust storms that limit visibility to near zero? How many athletes are going to risk their healths and athletic careers to compete here?

I suppose these questions will be answered for me at some point-- if I remember to ask them, anyway.

K.

Some Good News!

Hey all.

I just got back from China yesterday. Still rather exhausted, but I will be posting my travel journal up here, complete with pictures, very soon.

And now the good news: My poem "The Kimono" has been accepted for publication in The Swarthmore Literary Review online issue. Color me excited!

K.

Scattered Thoughts: Stressful Times

-- Going to China on Monday. And holy crap, I am not ready.

-- "Graduation" today. Okay, so I don't technically graduate until August, but I do walk across that stage today, wearing tons of bling.

-- I'm worried about my grades. I didn't do so well this semester. :(

-- Stepped on my glasses yesterday. Feeling pretty shitty about that.

-- One bright stop-- that interview in New York went really well. I hesitate to mention what the exact company is for legal and jinx-ing reasons, but it's terribly exciting.

Boo-urns. Have a great few weeks, everybody!

K.

Entertained By So Little

Possibly one of the finest sentences I have ever concocted for a college paper:

"Indeed, based on the reports of Addison and Steele, the streets must have been fairly frothing with giggling confections of silk and curled hair, wafting past more domesticated women on the breezes made by their own vibrating fans."

Verily, I am a beast.

K.

A Gentlemen's Duel

Dear Internet,

Why is this video not being shown on movie screens everywhere? Absolutely one of the best things I've seen in a long time.

Loooooove,

Kate

Miley's memoir makes me mad

Dear World,

Granted, Miley Cyrus has done quite a bit more than I have, but seriously, a memoir? The kid is fifteen-- how much can she have to say?

Until she wins the Nobel Prize, she has no reason to pen the memories of her short life and that will only happen when episodes of Hannah Montana are found to magically cure cancer and deflect asteroids hurtling towards Earth.

But, then again, Yassir Arafat managed to bag a Nobel Prize-- so I guess anything can happen on that committee.

Hugs and Kisses,

K.

An open letter to the politicans now leaving Pennsylvania

Dear politicians,

Well, another polling day over and another spotlight fading on our great state. I'm in class, but I've been spying on the CNN website for about half an hour now. Clinton is projected to win.

I'm not sure whether I like that PA is so often invaded by politicians. Sure, I've gotten to see the likes of John Edwards, John Kerry, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama over the years, but the visits seem insincere. Tomorrow, they'll all be gone, like a one-night stand picked up from a truck stop who gives you herpes, vomits all over your bathroom, and is gone in the morning, leaving you to clean up and apply the ointment. You might look back fondly on the encounter in your weaker moments, but the persistent itching in no-no places brings you back to your senses.

So, goodbye, politicians! I'll be half-praying that we won't be a swing state this year so you don't dirty our bedsheets again.

Love,

K.

The Crappiest Catch

Dear "Deadliest Catch" guys,

Watching you guys makes me wonder whether our taste for crab is really worth the cost. I'm sure a bunch of you are adventure-seeking maniacs, but, really. I don't think Chesapeake Bay blue crab fishermen have to deal with this kind of crap-- their dangers really focus around the pollution affecting the blue population.

Do you want me to tell my brother to lay off the king crab legs? 'Cause I'll do it, if you want.

Seriously.

K.

PS. Yeah, so I doubt this will happen. I'm thinking the adventure-seeking maniacs in you are going to win out.

A Series of Political Letters

Dear Chris Matthews,

Surprisingly, you seem really nice in person. I've always thought that you are a bit of a douche on your show, but you are actually kind of cool. You have a great rapport with the audience, which I wasn't expecting. You even brought your daughter up on stage to meet Obama-- pretty cool.

Now, to business-- Chris, let me tell you, are those seriously hardball questions? Man, Obama has answered all of those questions twenty times over and he's not going to say anything new. Make him sweat, make him think. The man is terribly clever and he can totally handle it. I just would have liked to hear things that haven't been repeated over and over in the media.

Also, can you talk to your colleagues at MSNBC for me? When I came back from the show, I happened to stumble across a discussion with those talking heads, discussing the WCU taping. You were gushing about how he connected to the students, then they deleted your screen and started talking about Obama's dismal performance at the western PA bowling alley. Can he connect with the +50 voters if he can't bowl blah blah blah? Geez, guys! I don't think anybody would have given it a second thought if you all hadn't blown it all out a proportion! Honestly, I find that silly failures like that humanizing. Remember when Dubya fell off the Segway? To me, it made him seem less like an elitist asshole and more like a guy who has issues with technology. I'm still not his biggest fan, but I can at least admit that. Can we just give it a break and get back to the issues? kthanx

Sincerely,

K.


Dear Barack Obama,

I'm still undecided, but I think you did a great job. Granted, you had a few too many softball questions, but you are a consummate showman and worked this crowd of college students like a rented mule. I thought girls (and guys) were going to throw their panties up on stage.

My only complaint is that you spoke so quietly-- up here in the nosebleed seats, we heard about every fourth word. Again, not really your fault. You don't use speech volumes when you're on a question and answer program. Still :(.

Sincerely,

K.

Google is the King of April Fools'

Dear Google,

Your new April Fools' page is brilliant. May I come and work for you? Please?

Love,

K.